


Youth

by steviatea



Category: Better Call Saul (TV), Breaking Bad
Genre: 1980s, Backstory, Character Study, Child Neglect, Childhood Trauma, Fireworks, Gen, Group Homes, Historical References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviatea/pseuds/steviatea
Summary: A glympse of Lydia Rodarte-Quayle's early childhood.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Youth

_December 18, 1983._

There had been a cold snap on that very date, as Lydia would remember. On the busy streets of Houston, the young girl clung to her mother's hand as her mother walked quickly through the streets. Snow blanketed what once was dirt or grass. Just five years old, Lydia rather missed spring, longed for green trees and blue skies above; as she walked hand-in-hand with her mother, she thought of the dappled sunlight filtering from the trees at the park.

She thought very little about where she was going with her mother.

Louise Rodarte-Quayle was a beautiful woman. That was the first thought that came to young Lydia's mind whenever she saw her; her piercing green eyes and low voice were heavenly, and _oh_ how _pretty_ her hair was. Mother always spent at least an hour every morning tending to her hair; she had to look pretty for her office job, so she'd told Lydia in the past. 

The logistics of her mother's job were a mystery, as they would be to a young girl, though her mother's intelligence was not to be disputed. At four years old, Lydia's mother had taught her to write her own full name, and at five, she could not only read but _spell out_ full sentences.

 _You're my brilliant girl,_ mother would tell her with a smile and a pat on the head.

On other days, Lydia's mother hadn't been so nice. She had come home, more than one time, breath smelling of fermented grapes and behaving rather strangely. There were times in which she'd sob, and others where she'd lay upon the sofa unmoving for days. Lydia never understood why her mother displayed this behavior, why she behaved the way she did, but she loved her mother nevertheless. In fact, as far as Lydia was concerned, her mother was the goddess who could put stars into the night sky.

On the eighteenth of December, however, Lydia felt absolutely frigid. Her tiny hand clinging to her mother's, the young girl shivered. Sniveling, she muttered, "Mama, I'm cold."

"I know, sweetie," her mother told her in a soft voice, her boots scuffing against the freezing sidewalk. "You won't be cold much longer, okay?"

"Okay," Lydia softly answered. Though her teeth chattered and her body shivered, she trusted her mother. "Mama, where are we going?"

Her mother did not respond to such an inquiry, innocent as it was; she merely wrapped her arms around her child, hugging and cradling her. When the bus arrived, her mother boarded with her.

Lydia couldn't remember exactly when it was that she fell asleep upon her mother's lap, but the view of downtown Houston flying by behind the glass windows would solidify itself as her last pleasant childhood memory.

When her mother took her to an unfamiliar building filled with strangers, hugging her and kissing her on the head as she repeatedly told her, _I love you,_ Lydia did not understand. She did not understand why her mother wept as she did, why her mother turned to run out of the very door from which the two of them had entered together.

Young Lydia Rodarte-Quayle could not comprehend why her mother had been so upset in the last moments the two of them shared. She had been far too young to recognize that it would be the last time she saw her mother.

* * *

_July 4, 1986._

The rules at the group home Lydia had been placed in were strict to the point of being agonizing. No slouching, no crying, eye contact with adults was non-negotiable, and bedtime _always_ happened at seven in the evening with _harsh_ penalty for staying up any later. Lydia rarely slept through the night, anyhow; the girls she shared a bedroom with somehow managed to break every rule without being caught and often kept her up all night without any regard for her sleep schedule.

At 8 PM, Lydia quietly opened the bedroom door to step out of the bedroom. She had made important plans tonight: she was going to see some fireworks.

She saw some fireworks once she escaped onto the roof. Such fireworks were incredibly bright and fascinating; bursts of bright color with luminous pops. They were undoubtedly noisy, and the young girl covered her ears so that she could not hear the noise.

Lydia Rodarte-Quayle went to sleep later, dreaming of the fireworks for the first time, instead of cold snow. She understood, then, that warmth could be discovered in spite of frightening beginnings.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The time stamps have been added for realism, based on weather trends in Houston, TX in the 1980s. I didn't exist in the 1980s.


End file.
